


On Your Marks

by Xanthippe



Category: The Long Walk - Richard Bachman
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthippe/pseuds/Xanthippe
Summary: Stebbins has been preparing for the Walk his entire life. He spends his final moments before the Walk begins thinking about his wish.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	On Your Marks

**Author's Note:**

> A short fic for The Long Walk Week! I didn't subject my proofreader to my last minute scramblings to write something so sorry about any typos/errors!

When he woke up on May 1st Stebbins was mildly surprised to find he wasn’t nervous. Hell, he wasn’t even excited. Everything had gone exactly as he knew it would. He had never entertained the thought that he would not be selected for the walk, not for a second. To put it simply it was his birthright. The satisfaction the other boys might have felt when their names were called on TV was something he did not experience. It was simply an acknowledgement that his father had accepted his challenge.

The Maine scenery flew by as he gazed lazily out the window, scenery he would become intimately familiar with it soon enough. Stebbins glanced over to his mother, her own jaw set, her bony white hands gripping the wheel a bit too tightly. A perfect portrait of a mother’s worry, and he knew it was something he would be unable to assuage. Only once he claimed his victory would he be able to put her at ease. He wondered if her determination mirrored his own. He wondered if their wish was the same. 

Part of him almost pitied the other walkers. He was sure plenty of them were confident in their abilities, some probably even really believed they could win, but that was only because they didn’t understand. Not yet, anyway. It didn’t matter how fit they were, or how much they walked prior to this point. That kind of preparation wouldn’t mean jack the longer the Walk stretched on. No matter how fit they were they would all eventually start to feel tired, feel the pain. If anything fitness only served to prolonged their suffering. They simply did not understand, the Walk would come down to those with the mental acuity to keep sight of their goal. Those who would try to retreat, hide within the recesses of their mind, would be lost.

Stebbins’s pale knuckles looked absolutely ghostly in the early morning light. His fists tightly clenched in his lap, as he thought about his own goal. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The indignity of his parentage which tainted his veins. His mother suffering the judgment of strangers over the birth of a bastard. No longer would his father be able to deny him. Stebbins would demand his rightful spot in his father's household and he would claim his inheritance. 

After he checked in he avoided the company of all the other boys. Instead he found himself a branch on a pine tree where he could wait out the final minutes. Reclining back, he rested against the rough bark trunk and pulled a sandwich from his pocket. The other walkers were congregating in small groups, forming bonds which would only serve to hurt them when one of them bought their ticket. His eyes swept over the forming crowd. Soon there would be ninety-nine. The sacrifice needed to grant his wish.


End file.
